


Good to You

by TheLadyofMisrule



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Green Arrow (Comics), Green Arrow - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, olicity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 06:32:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2338622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyofMisrule/pseuds/TheLadyofMisrule
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Olicity OS - After Season Two, Oliver realizes in no uncertain terms how much of a danger being a part of Team Arrow is for Felicity. Fear and concern makes Oliver push her away, time and circumstance keep them apart. The same ballroom years later, Oliver finally asks her to dance. In ways he's too late, but this isn't about him, it is and always has been about her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good to You

 

* * *

_Everyone's around,_

_no words are coming now._

_And I can't find my breath,_

_can we just say the rest with no sound._

* * *

 

 

“Don’t!” warned Felicity, her eyes flashing as she stepped out of his reach.

 

His jaw clenching, as he drew back his now clenched palm, Oliver felt a sense of despair start to take root, in ways it hadn’t since his five years at Lian Yu, perhaps more so, because if not then – this time he deserved every word.  

 

He wanted so badly to just turn her around, and hold her in his arms as he apologized.

 

As he explained.

 

As he made it better.

 

But he didn’t.

 

Because if there was one thing Oliver wanted more it was for her to be happy.

 

And what he _needed_ more was for her to be safe.

 

And despite what he’d been telling himself since the day he’d brought her down to the Foundry – he couldn’t.

 

What was worse, was that of all the things he could give her, what Felicity truly wanted, was something he couldn’t give her. Not now. He owed to many people to many things. Too many lives depended on him. Whether or not she liked it - _her_ life depended on him. 

 

And when it came down to it – nothing else mattered. Nothing else ever did.

 

If her hatred of him was what he had to give in to for her safety, he’d give her these lies a million times over.

 

A million times. And then he’d get up and do it again.

 

* * *

_And I know this isn't enough,_

_I still don't measure up._

_And I'm not prepared,_

_Sorry is never there when you need it._

* * *

 

 

Felicity Meghan Smoak, was not a dreamer.

 

To be fair, growing up with an off the charts IQ, with wide-rimmed glasses and mousey brown hair, at a Vegas High School kind of meant ‘dreamer’ wasn’t really a viable option.

 

Realist was. So ‘realist’ she had become.

 

But God help her for the past two years she had dreamed.

 

It wasn’t his fault really, just because she had thought there as more to his awkward explanations after Russia, or his solemn assurances after the Count and Clock King had attacked didn’t mean there really was more to it.

 

 _Hell_ , she thought, her lips trembling slightly as fresh tears prickled beneath the safety of her wide rimmed glasses, he hadn’t even meant it when he’d _said_ it.

 

And that was really what all this was about wasn’t it.

 

* * *

_And now I do want you to know I hold you up above everyone._

_And now I do want you to know I think you'd be good to me_

_And I'd be so good to you._

_I would._

* * *

 

 

She looked around at world she had carved out down in this dank club cellar. She looked at the carefully set up tech station, the neat array of arrows, the glass showcase she’d had installed for his suit.

 

All of it.

 

Most little girls grew up and played house, Felicity had played savior – _with him_.

 

She had been there, from the start, her fingers silently trailing the edge of her chair, she choked back a sob as she realized that even so it hadn’t mattered.

 

It made no difference to him that she had sat here through hell and worse. It made no difference to him that there, she had watched a man murdered for the first time, or that it was the same place she had felt the all too real fear of loss a hundred times over every time he went into the field.

 

He really didn’t care.

 

Six months and her.  

 

That was all it had took for him to come down here one fine day and tell her she wasn’t needed. That she was complicating things. That _he_ would rather Laurel and Sara run things down there.

 

It was all it had taken for him to tell her that her thinking she was a part of this, a part of them was naught but another fanciful dream – like she had been told a million times over as a child.

 

She could hear him calling her name. A part of her could. A part of her told her this made no sense, that there was something she wasn’t seeing.

 

But then she turned around one last time as saw the guilt lacing through eyes that refused to meet hers.

 

Her hands clenching around the soft cashmere sweater she had left on the chair earlier, Felicity did something she hadn’t done since Jack Cahill in sixth grade had tripped her onstage during their Hamlet rendition.

 

She gave up.

 

* * *

_I thought I saw a sign_

_somewhere between the lines._

_Maybe it's me,_

_maybe I only see what I want._

* * *

 

 

It wasn’t giving up really, she reasoned as she quietly, tapped a few keys, to erase her pre-existing passwords, and simultaneously grabbed her cardigan and shoulder bag off what had once been her seat, it was giving in.

 

After all she told herself, as she walked stoically passed Oliver only to pause for that infinitesimal second at the sound of him dragging in a harsh breath of air, she was _supposed_ to have left years ago – when they’d found Walter. It really was getting quite crowded down there.

 

For a second she wished so badly she had a reason to stay.

 

A reason to justify her being there.

 

Unfortunately, Felicity Smoak had neither, mean fighting skills, access to police records or the Lance Surname.

 

All she had was too much of an emotion he didn’t want.

 

Not from her.

 

How sad was it that ‘ _love’_ wasn’t a superpower?

 

* * *

_And I still have your letter_

_just got caught between_

_Someone I just invented,_

_who I really am and who I've become._

* * *

 

 

Perhaps if it had been Felicity would have seen the way his jaw had locked as she walked passed him, or how his fist had clenched at the sight of the tell-tale shine of tears behind her glasses.

 

Perhaps if it had been, she would have had the courage to turn back to him and kiss away the pain and guilt.

 

Perhaps it would have kept her from walking out that night, which in turn would have kept her from getting adorably drunk at a bar until; a tall dark stranger had been kind enough to take her home. The same tall dark stranger Oliver would find in her room later that night when he went to see that she was okay, only to find he wasn’t a stranger after all.

 

 

* * *

_And now I do want you to know_

_I hold you up above everyone._

_And now I do want you to know_

_I think you'd be good to me_

_And I'd be so good to you._

* * *

 

 

_One Year Later_

 

The tinkling sound of champagne glasses was drowned out by the carefree gaiety that seemed to hold the ballroom at Queen Mansion enthralled.

 

For a second Felicity could almost feel the ever present smile slip from her lips as she relieved another night, in this same room, not too many years ago.  

 

Her fingers tightening convulsively over her glass of untouched champagne, Felicity felt rather than heard the strong silent man that came up behind her.

 

* * *

_Whoa_   
_You bring me higher._   
_Yeah._   
_I would._

* * *

 

 

It had been years since they had been here in this room together.

 

Hell, the way things had been going it had been years since they had been in any room together.

 

He watched from across the room as Felicity, raised her champagne glass yet again in acknowledgement as yet another face in the crowd congratulated her. It had been a while since the Felicity Smoak had graced the Queen Christmas Ball with her presence.

 

But then again she wasn’t here as Felicity Smoak, he reminded himself, his eyes going over the way Grecian Ball gown fell in soft ivory waves trimmed by a soft gold on its ragged edges, almost as if she was wearing a Tiger Lily whose edges had been dipped in liquid gold. She looked, he acknowledged,  like the blushing bride she was, his eyes slid almost to the impossible to miss Harry Winston on her left hand, the thin band of gold nestled against it, and then to the glass of champagne she’d been holding on to for over an hour now without taking a sip.

 

The newly minted Mrs. Palmer could hardly not go, to a Christmas Ball thrown by the man whose company her husband now ran. It would seem so – uncivil. And society was nothing if not civil.

 

Tossing back yet another shot of vodka as he made his way through the crowd, Oliver was suddenly taken back to another ball years ago. His voice strained with emotions he had no right or claim to, he found himself standing in her shadow as he asked, “Time for a dance?”

 

She wasn’t surprised. It was almost as if she had been waiting for him he noted, as her clenched fingers tightened around the stem of her untouched glass. For a second, Oliver wondered if there wasn’t another reason for her reticence towards alcohol.

 

Even the thought, took his breath away in swift stab of pain.

 

There was a reason he hadn’t gone to the wedding, a reason he had nearly staggered out of her house that day years ago as her now husband had carefully tucked her into bed.

 

If he hadn’t already known what he’d had with the Lance’s was infatuation he would have known then. Then and the weeks after, when Ray Palmer had begun a very public very ardent pursuit of the woman Oliver Queen had been furtively spending his nights with for two years.

 

Carefully he plucked the glass of champagne out of her hand and handed it to a passing waiter, as he turned her more firmly towards him, his palm outstretched, his eyes never leaving hers.

 

Much to his surprise, she didn’t rebuff him, or plead a non-existent head ache. Instead still silent, she slipped her hand into his own and allowed him to lead her towards the center of the dance floor.

 

For a moment they simply danced.

 

The softly sung words washing over them as each step fit them closer together. 

 

It was almost surreal, Felicity on his arm, dressed in beautiful breathtaking white, his thumb running over those two rings of marked possession as his arm anchored her just a bit closer to his own body. Or at least it would have been if it weren’t for the fact that they weren’t his rings.

 

His arm clenching involuntarily around her waist, Oliver watched mutely as she sent her husband a soft reassuring smile over his shoulder. “Are you happy?”

 

Her eyes, turning carefully to his, she asked, her voice tinged with only a fraction of the pain she had felt so long ago, “Are you?”

 

Another woman in his arms, would not have noticed the flash of guilt that laced through his eyes, another woman would not have seen the way they shuttered themselves against her probing gaze, but Felicity was not any other woman.

 

She was the one woman who had believed in him when no one else had. She was courageous, smart  and beautiful. She was the one woman who had loved him.

 

 

Not the shell of a man he had been on the island or the child he had been before it.

 

“You’re safe.” He breathed raggedly against the top of her head, aching to press a kiss to her soft blonde curls.

 

Her eyes lifted to his, as they were waiting, as if they had always been waiting.

 

* * *

 

_And now I do want you to know_

_I hold you up above everyone._   
_And now I do want you to know_

_I think you'd be good to me_   
_And I'd be so good to you._

* * *

 

 

Silently, Felicity dragged her hand down from his shoulder and placed it carefully over his heart. Later she would be leaving here in the arms of another man, later she would go home and tell him their news. Later she would laugh, and the man who had finally made her feel like she was enough would twirl her in his arms in joy.

 

But this was now.

 

And now, for one brief second, she would give herself what Oliver had decided not to allow for her so long ago.

 

 _Him_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: If you have enjoyed what you've read please don't forget to leave a review! Feed the Muse Loves!


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